Well, I almost got arrested and nearly missed my flight because of a handheld luggage scale. And was in danger of getting jailed, possibly. Or shot. In the middle of the night. In Ouagadougou, no less.
I had (and somewhere still have) a mechanic “luggage” scale. It is made out of brass, can used to weigh anything attachable up to 30 kg and has a pointed hook which could easily as well go through a pork hide on one side and a ring with a karabiner on the other side.
It was 3 am. The last possible flight for me out of the country would leave at 3:45h. I was a bit delirious, had a mild malaria, was malnourished, stressed out and lacked sleep, of course. Nighttime temp was about 28°C, which is quite agreeable during the season. I had several layers of clothing on me, because I knew the plane would be air-conditioned to a freezing cold.
A military man approached me and told me in no uncertain terms I had to come with him. There would be a problem with my luggage.
Well, yes. There was. I knew. I had stuff in my metal boxes which would be problematic to explain. And as far as I known, despite my best efforts the weeks before to get official papers for them, could bring me to jail. Because I did not succeed to obtain said papers, but had opted to try my luck.
Which looked as if it just had run out.
The military guy took me to a room. There, in a nearly unintelligible French, he asked me to open my luggage because there was something inside they had seen on the x-ray. Something which “resembled a tree”. (Ça resemble un arbre, I understood.)
Well, yes. I am a botanist. There is a herbarium inside. I could show him this, I said. And I was sweating hot blood, because some of the material had no paperwork, and it was impossible to get it (long story, don’t ask).
He shook his head, and repeated.
After several back and forths, getting very irritated, starting to shout, and I was really very nervous - my plane was already preparing to taxi - he pointed me to my large backpack (also containing research material, but nothing without papers), we went to the x-ray and he pointed at something. I got it, then. Ça resemble un arme. That looks like a weapon!
The scale. The spring reminded him of a recoil spring in a weapon. The brass tube was unfamiliar. The attachments strange to him. I had to unpack. It was quite deep inside, actually wrapped in worn underpants and sock stuffed into a pair of shoes, so the hook could do no damage to the backpack.
The situation resolved, I was brought by military to my plane, as was my luggage. They actually laughed, and made jokes. I must have looked like I was mad, I guess.
The relief when I got onto that plane, shaking, was just too much. I had to change planes two times during that journey. My luggage didn’t make through one of those changes and was delivered two days later to my doorstep. I didn’t even had to get it through customs myself.
Since then, I always packed this scale in a place where it can easily be reached and checked by authorities, and sometimes preemptively told security staff what to expect. The same is true for some of the reseach tools, since explaining in a second or third language to a customs agent or security personnel what, e.g., refractometer is - or rather that it isn’t a scope for a gun - is rather something I try to avoid having to do ever again.
But the scale saved me quite a bit of money on my trips, I can tell you that.
